They met over a quesadilla served on a plastic plate. The taqueria booth table looked like it hadn’t been wiped down in months, but the tomatoes in the salsa fresca were bright and fresh, and the onion sweet.
The carnitas would be too much without the salsa, she said. The fat needs acid so it doesn’t overwhelm.
What about the cheese? he asked.
We all need something to bind us together.
He touched the tortilla-soft inside of her wrist. He chewed slowly, hoping to stretch his half of the quesadilla long enough to tell her he loved her.